


If There's Any Justice

by Redhead_Maniac



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Boondock Saints RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redhead_Maniac/pseuds/Redhead_Maniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Norman and Sean have been in a relationship for the past 3 years. The two lovers haven't seen each other in two months, and when Sean finally decides to call up one night, he doesn't expect the words that pour out of the artist's mouth.<br/>Although really, he shouldn't be surprised at all, considering he gave birth to the whole sham in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That all?

**Author's Note:**

> *hides under the table*... I'm a long-term fan of the two, but this is the first time I've dared to write something for Flandus. Don't be too harsh? But constuctive criticism would be a blessing, especially in terms of portraying personalities, because I'm hugely insecure with this. First RPS writing as well ==

He's all fucked up and he knows it. He doesn't try to hide it, although his gentle smiles, goofy attitude and passion for work and art make for a good cover. He's admitted to it in public on several occasions, but most people tend to glaze over it, choose not to linger on that detail, less it shatters their image of him.

He's fine with it, doesn't think too much about it. Except at times like this, when his mind is haunted by blue eyes with merry crinkles in the corners, the sound of a boisterous laugh and the ever-changing accents.

Perhaps there are only two people other than his son who know just how fucked up Norman really is.

He chews on his fingernail, staring at the lit screen of his phone and seemingly unable to push the call button. He really doesn't want to be alone right now. You would have thought that a quiet night among the crazy filming schedule and the never-ending cons would be a blessing, a much needed reprieve. Instead he just feels tired and lonely.

Maybe it's the age, he tries to convince himself. But he knows that's a blatant lie. And he hates lying.

He exits the phonebook and opens the messages instead, then types "how's it going?" and hits send before he can chicken out. The reply is almost instantaneous and Norman cracks a smile at the buzzing of his phone "Thought you'd never ask, Reedenstein! Grand, you?".

Norman chances a glance at the large window overlooking the New York City. The deep blue colours of the night seem to only intensify his somber mood.

He's clumsy with his stupid fat fingers, so he has to hit erase twice before he gets the message error-free "good. Kinda bored".

Sean doesn't reply for the next fifteen minutes, so Reedus takes his time in a game of guessing. Maybe he's on set. Or walking Donut, or has someone over. The last thought stings especially hard and Norman reaches for his lighter.

As the dove-coloured smoke exits his lungs into the still air of the living room, his iPhone finally vibrates again, but this time the little shakes are accompanied by a burst of sound.

_This ain't impossible_

_This ain't improbable_

_You are my baby tonight_

_And I'm your daddy_

He almost sputters on the inhale, eyes going wide as he sees the caller ID. Then, finally, he lets out a small chuckle akin to a snort. Of course. So that's what Sean was doing tinkering with his phone on their last meet-up.

_This ain't believable_

_This ain't predictable_

_You are my baby tonight_

_And I'm your daddy_

Still smiling, he finally picks up the phone. "Hey Daddy" he says in a derisive voice, batting his lashes without realising that Flanery can't really see him.

Howls of laughter come pouring through his cell phone "Aha! Ma sweet lil' girl finally admits she's missed me!".

Norman scoffs and rolls his eyes "Not a chance, asshole". He still manages to keep on smiling though, because hearing Sean's voice after two long months of silence is similar to getting a fix. It's almost scary, that thought, so Norman shoves it into the furthest corner of his mind.

"You're the one who called, what's up with that?"

"Ow, ye hurt me feelings, brother dear" Reedus is used to the man switching into his accents and roles like breathing. Then suddenly Sean's voice grows serious, none of his good-natured mockery present this time around "Dunno, you sounded upset. And before you ask, yes, the messages do have a tone too!" Sean coughs, then carries on. "Come on, you're never bored. What's crawled inside you, eh?"

"Except you?" smirks Norman, balancing the phone with his shoulder, pressing it against his ear as he reaches forward and snatches a beer off the table.

"Ha-ha, very funny, Reedus. Now come on, what's up?" Norman licks his lips in sudden nervousness, then closes his eyes and decides to be out with it. What's the worst that can happen, right?

" 'M dating" it comes out flatly, like a slap to the face, and Norman winces. He didn't mean to sound like a jerk. But then again, he muses, how can you not sound like a jerk when telling something like this to your boyfriend?

There is a tension-filled pause on the other end of the line, and then Norman hears Sean's raspy voice "I...see."

Maybe it's the three beers he's had tonight, but suddenly Norman feels a white-hot jolt of anger bubbling inside him. He snaps "The fuck? That all you gotta say?". He is seething, fingers clenching the glass neck of the bottle so tight his knuckles turn pale.

"Well, what did you expect me to say?" Sean sounds pissed off now. "Was I to say "How nice, congrats!" and send you a fucking postcard?!"

"No! But you could've said at least something!" a brief thought of _there goes my nice, quiet little evening_ flitters through his mind. Sure, they've been dating for three years now, but it was Sean's fucking idea to keep it in the dark. Norman can't even remember the arguments that held up such a stupid fucking decision, but it was what it was. And it was Sean who deemed it necessary to have a cover-up girlfriend. Hell, he even urged Norman to do the same. And after many stubborn glares and elusive answers to the paparazzi, Norman finally decided to give in. Just for the cover, just so that everybody around him would stop sicking the metaphorical dogs on his relationship-less life. He was sick and tired of the whole sham.

So he went ahead and got himself a girlfriend. A girl- _friend_.

He still feels like a cheater, though.

"It was your stupid fucking idea! You told me to get a girlfriend, remember?" Norman snaps into the phone.

"Sure" Sean sounds impassive, and that makes Norman clench his teeth on the cigarette dangling from his mouth. He wants to smack the bastard upside the head. Good thing he is far away.

"That all you wanted to tell me?" the cool voice drifts into his ear.

"Yes" he snaps.

"Look, Reedus, it's cool. We're cool. I understand".

 _The fuck you do_ , Norman thinks. Instead, he says "Yeah, well, you better. I ain't the one who started it anyway". He knows he sounds bitter, and honestly, what _did_ he expect? That by some miracle Sean would become so appalled by the new bit of information that he would altogether drop the act? Man up and publicly come out? No, of course not. No way he would do that. This is Sean — the walking epitome of human masculinity, the breathing, talking definition of macho in the dictionary.

Reedus scoffs, desperately clutching to his last remains of a calm demeanour, which went to Hell about a minute ago. He needs to finish this conversation as fast and painless as possible, get back to his drinking and forget that Sean ever called. Then he can pretend that nothing really happened and everything is back to normal, back to their fucked up, hidden relationship. That he doesn't have a new unofficial girlfriend, that he would rather talk to his cat than see her pretty face and sit through some agonising meet-ups at a cafè, wishing it was Sean sitting across from him instead.

"Listen, I gotta go. Talk to you later, alright?" Norman inquires in a tired voice.

Sean's gentle reply is so out of place it sends shivers down Norman's arms "Sure, Pup. Have a good night".

Reedus pulls the phone away from his ear and hits the red button, efficiently ending the call. He thinks that maybe he needs something a tad stronger than beer.

Then, maybe, he won't end up wallowing in self-pity 'til the early hours of the morning.

Of course, this is complete bullshit; he ends up wallowing anyway.


	2. Do you ever get that fear that you can’t shift the tide?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was stuck listening to the Actic Monkeys – "Do I Wanna Know?" while writing that last scene.  
> That said, I would love some honest feedback. I was struggling really hard at writing Norman, and I'm afraid he turned out rather off.  
> I'm shite at multi-chaptered work :D I'm more of a one-shot sprinter.

The next day Norman doesn't find the customary "mornin Pup!" message as he groggily gets out of bed. The chances that Sean is still asleep at 13:00 are pretty much non-existent; the man is a fucking lark and never misses out on his morning runs. If the short conversation yesterday didn't indicate that something is off, then this sure as hell does. In fact, it rings a huge-ass, loud bell.

Trying to ignore another passing pang of bitterness, Reedus carries on his usual routine — cleaning up, pulling on his well-worn jeans and a grey sweater, feeding Eye In The Dark and having a smoke on the way to the small coffee shop he likes to visit at the start of his day. 

He is, after all, a creature of habit.

Today is clear of any appointments or work-related shit, so he decides to simply enjoy a casual stroll through the park. 

That, of course, is the moment his new girlfriend decides to give him a call.

Picking up the phone, Norman tries to sound as normal as possible, even if he feels like shit and talking to her does nothing to improve his already sourpuss mood.

He pauses his gait, stuffing one hand in the pocket of his jeans.

"Hey babe, what's up?" years of practice come in handy at sounding upbeat and carefree.

The girl gives a tinkering laugh through the phone, "Hey beautiful! Figured you'd still be asleep, so I wanted to make sure you were up and around _at least_ by three!"

He doesn't fucking get since when it became her fucking business. Do women always tighten the reins at the three-day-mark after getting into a relationship? He feels irked, but decides to let it slip and be polite instead. The girl doesn't need to be blamed for his mood-swings _or_ his un-boyfriend-like behaviour. No, of course not. 

_Sean_ does. 

There mere thought of him makes his blood boil and tension sip into his back. Norman rolls his shoulders, trying to ease the tightening of the muscles and looks everywhere but ahead of him. He can hear the birds singing and the gentle buzz of children's voices somewhere further up the alley. It's a nice day. Well, it would be.

"Um, yeah, sure. I'm up. Thanks for worrying though." He knows he sounds kind of airy, but he honestly can't bring himself to catch every word uttered by Alicia.

"Well, what are you up to? Want to meet for lunch?" She sounds excited and Reedus has to swallow the guilt crawling its way up his chest.

He licks his lips and thinks about it for a second. "Actually, I was having a walk in the park... But I guess lunch does sound nice." Norman hasn't really eaten apart from that bagel with his morning coffee, so the prospect of food seems to be rather appealing at the moment. Never mind his lacking desire for company.

"Great! Then come meet me at Drifters in an hour?"

"Sure. See you later, babe."

She makes a kissing noise and he winces. Looks like everything about Alicia miffs him now. He doesn't even remember why he'd asked her out in the first place. Probably her pretty smile, long brown hair and kind, wide eyes that reminded him of a doe. 

The fact that he was drunk off his ass adds up to that list as well. In fact, it's right at the fucking top of it.

He makes it to Drifters in just under fifty minutes, surprised when he actually sees her waving at him from the table across the room. He would've expected her to be late. 

Smiling despite his somber mood, Norman makes his way towards the brunette and bends down, briefly kissing her on the cheek. After all, she doesn't deserve to deal with his crap. 

This thought keeps on running through his head, helping him control the inner turmoil. 

She looks pretty.

Fuck, does he want to smash something against the table and saddle up his bike, only to drive for hours without a real purpose. That would definitely help him clear his head. 

Okay, so maybe he's overreacting a bit. 

Okay, maybe more than a bit. But he wants to, thinks he _deserves to_ have a tantrum, a breakdown.

After all the crap Flanery's put him through? Yeah, he's allowed to be pissed as hell and desire to break stuff. Let off some steam.

Fuck Sean and his two-facedness. 

He can't help but feel like a two-faced liar himself as he tries to avoid Alicia's gaze.

"Hey babe, you're fast" Norman slides into the opposite side of the booth, hearing her chuckle and briefly wondering why couldn't he like a light, tinkering laugh instead of a loud, boisterous one. One way or another, the sound of her tender voice helps him snap out of his bitter mental tirade, if only for a minute.

"Oh well, next time just let me know if you want me to validate the myth about women's tardiness. I can always arrange that" She gives him a brilliant smile and Norman realises she's flirting with him. He feels a bit flustered and uncomfortable with the whole situation, now that he's sober. Still, he suddenly appreciates the distraction from his gloomy thoughts.

He gives a little snort and shakes his head, picking up the menu and busying himself with choosing the food, so that he doesn't have to look at her for more than five seconds at a time. Not that she's offputting, quiet the opposite, actually. All long legs, flaring hips and tan skin. She could've easily been a model, if she chose to. But she's an artist instead. In fact, they've met at her presentation and seemed to hit it right off from the start, carrying on to the after party.

"Ah, no, thanks" He chuckles, "I'd rather have you on time than wait. Besides, unconventional is good."

Alicia nods and brings up her own menu, studying what appears to be the salad section of the page. 

This sparks another thought of Sean. Health-freaks. He seriously doesn't know how some people willingly deprive themselves of all the good, greasy stuff. He sure as hell can't and won't. He likes his calories and tastebud-paradise, thank you very much. Besides, he gets to burn off all of that stuff during filming, what's with the hot Georgian sun and so much running in the woods.

When the waitress comes, Norman gives her a small smile and places their order.

"So, how you've been, babe?" Reedus looks up at Alicia, unconsciously playing with the edge of his napkin, folding and unfolding it in a repeating succession. At least he tries to make a decent conversation.

"Not bad. Actually, I've received an invitation to some fancy art-show yesterday. They're asking me to contribute a couple of works and I'm considering doing it. What do you think?" Norman doesn't see her eyes sparkling with excitement, because he's staring at his hands.

"Norman?" She tries again, louder this time.

"Huh?" He snaps out of his reverie and looks up, noticing the silent question burning in her eyes. 

"Ah, sorry, got a bit, yanno, lost in thoughts. Sorry. Could you ask that again?"

Instead of rolling her eyes like he would've expected her to, Alicia smiles and nods, repeating herself without a bother.

"Yeah, I think that'd be great." He tries to sound excited and pay closer attention as she launches into another story about one exhibition or the other. But he catches only snippets of information, nodding and going as far as to smile when she starts using her hands in pure excitement.

Sometime through their meal Alicia puts her utensils down and looks seriously at Norman.

"Is everything okay? You're awfully quiet."

Reedus gives a gentle chuckle after swallowing down a piece of meat "Yeah, I'm good, don't worry." He prays to God she hasn't noticed his absentmindedness and lack of interest in the conversation. He might be a sucker for art, but all the fancy talk about the business part of it? Definitely not his pick. "I'm pretty introverted, you know. I'd rather listen than talk." She looks a bit surprised, so he decides to clarify himself "But you can't shut me up when I'm drunk."

Alicia laughs at his blunt statement, seeming to catch onto his words. However, this doesn't seem to faze her too much.

"That's alright. I guess there's still a lot to learn about each other, huh? And I love a good listener. Especially when he's such a handsome devil." She smirks and narrows her eyes at him, and Norman feels his fingers clasp the tattered napkin harder. He doesn't do well with compliments, although he _should_ be used to receiving them by now.

It's still awkward as fuck.

"You're not so bad yourself, sweetheart." He tries to return the compliment.

"Why thanks!" Her laughter rings in his head long after they leave and part ways, him kissing her on the cheek and pulling away, only to be caught off-guard by her hand on his neck and a chaste, sweet kiss to the lips.

He smokes four cigarettes on the way home, head pounding with a heavy, swarming mess dabbed as his thoughts. It's autumn, but Norman feels too hot, too bothered in his long-sleeved turtleneck. He can feel the sweat rolling down between his shoulder-blades. Breathing becomes a conscious task, taking each step even more so. It's like he's suddenly hyper aware of his body and it makes him want to throw up.

He wishes he could barf his thoughts out too, along with his meal.

His mind, it's all a mess about Sean, and Alicia, and cons, and Mingus, and Sean, and Alicia, SeanSeanSean.

The bitter pang of pain come surging again, and with it comes the anger. He doesn't remember how he gets home, just blindly slams the keys into the hole, jiggling them around to twist the locks open. All the while he can feel each intake of his breath, fingers going slightly numb. Finally, he rushes inside with a cool breeze of air.

He doesn't exactly remember how he pulls off his sweater either. It's all a maddening haze. The thump of his beloved shoes thrown to the floor, the quiet, murmured curse escaping his dry lips, the slamming of the doors as he goes from room to room, until, finally, his eyes set on a box of paints, left out from his previous session.

Then the hurt, the guilt and the anger suddenly click into place.

It takes a split second to decide that he's not going to use canvas for this one. Norman quickly rushes around the flat, looking in every nook and cranny for that white piece of tablecloth he was never going to use anyway, until he finally finds it in one of the kitchen cupboards. He stretches it out on the wall, using pins and duct tape, not at all bothered by the lack of accuracy and tidiness. His brain does a complete shutdown as his hands begin to work, opening the messy cases, taking out the old palette and smearing a range of colours onto the wooden surface.

The first splash of midnight-blue against the pristine white cloth is like a revelation. The thick paint drips off his fingertips as he smears the carmine around the edges, leaving almost bloody fingerprints, making it seem like somebody dying from a bleeding wound was trying to crawl up the cloth, to reach as high as they could, as if that'd bring salvation to their tortured soul.

There is no conscious process as to what he's doing as Norman claws and punches and rubs and strokes at the improvised canvas, which are getting heavier with paint by the minute.

When there is a single speck of white remaining, Norman slides down onto the floor, his breathing heavy in the silence of the flat. He allows his eyes to drift shut, hands unconsciously going up to cover his face and tangle in his brown hair.

A quiet sniff escapes his tight throat as the oily, blue paint leaves ugly smudges on his skin.

He's a crybaby. God knows he should be beating a punching bag or running, or doing some other shit men are supposed to do instead of having an emotional breakdown. Not rubbing their faces with paint-covered fingers, mixing midnight blue with translucent tears.

As Norman lifts his red-rimmed eyes towards the dark ceiling, sitting under his 'artwork', he wishes things went different.

He wishes Sean would come home and all of this would turn into a bad dream, would disappear like the mist in the morning.

He fumbles for a pack of cigarettes stashed in the back pocket of his jeans and takes one stick out, putting it in his mouth. The soft click of the lighter illuminates his paint-chipped fingers, then everything goes back into the darkness, the glowing cherry of his cigarette the only reminder that he's still alive and breathing.

Norman makes no sound sitting on the cold floor of his office and staring off into space.

He doesn't notice as the light starts spilling through the large windows.

His head is empty, his feelings numb.

It's morning.


	3. Night out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been over a year. I am so fucken sorry. I have plenty of valid excused (which ye can read at the end), but the main one? Sean Patrick Flanery proved to be EXTREMELY hard to write fer me. Gah! I'm so sorry guys. Hope I don't disappoint.  
> And I see Sean as the one who would get rather angry and pissy about the situation, less moping around. I think I failed on that lol. Apologies :/

It is dim, loud, and the drinks keep on flowing at the round table, the cacophony of laughter erupting every time Sean opens his mouth.  


Just as he likes it.  


Waiting for his friends to simmer the fuck down after nearly choking on their colourful drinks and tears, Sean leans back against the cushions, his right leg bouncing up and down with barely contained agitation.  


He loves these cats, there is no question about it, and he's having a blast — he lives for this, for having fun and showing off, for being the centre of attention. He always gets the spotlight, and, in his opinion, that's the way it should be.  


Julie is still snickering at his previous joke and there are smiles on everyone's faces, which makes Sean smirk in self-appreciation, his ego boosted up a notch.  


However, there is one thought clawing at the back of his head, sullying his fun. He really, really tries to push it as far down as possible, but it's a fast losing battle. The absence of a certain presence, even in spirit, so to speak, is akin to a stark white dot mocking him on the pitch black canvas.  


Who is he trying to kid anyway? He must've glanced at his phone at least half a dozen times just in the past hour, hoping to see the bright banner informing him of a new message or a missed call (he never puts it on silent, even when he's at cons, but today is an exception. He wants to think that he can be just fine without a tweet from Reedus, that he can forget about his phone and immerse in an evening spent with friends. He's terribly wrong, although he won't admit it).  


Every time he glances at the screen, it's dark and lifeless, and Sean feels the anger originating from his solar plexus and crawling it's way up his throat.  


Reedus is certainly no fucking queen of England for Sean to be so twitchy and check his mobile as often as he does, but he can't seem to help it, which only manages to evoke another spike of annoyance with himself.  


Somewhere deep, deep inside, Sean knows that he has fucked up big time. Knows it's somehow his fault. Not just the fallout from the conversation, but the whole situation in general. However, his bruised ego is huffing, sticking its nose high in the air and effectively clouding the rational part of Sean’s mind. Who the fuck states that they're dating on the side, much less during a late-night, check-in call? Apparently Norman fucken Reedus, that's who! Ding-ding-ding for the winner of "Socially Awkward" award! Christ's sake, Sean feels so momentarily repulsed that he has to restrain himself from slamming down another shot of tequila.  


There’s a small part of him that feels guilty and ashamed, but he persistently pushes it away. It’s much easier to be rightfully pissed than realize you’re your own cause for misery.  


To be honest, he didn't expect Reedus to ever partake in the whole girlfriend-sham thing. When Sean threw a "you should do it too, for the sake of public image, yanno", he didn't think for a second that Reedus would take him seriously, that he would actually fucking consider it. And at first Norman did cuss it off and then proceeded to inform Sean of his (rather X-rated) colourful opinion on the matter. He also directed where Sean needs to shove that stupid fat head of his.  


Sean _knew_ that Reedus wouldn't take him up on the offer, hence the offer itself — to make it seem fair, equal, less minatory. Look at how fucking well _that_ has turned out.  


He is definitely taken aback by Reedus’ decision; pissed as hell, even if his conscience is mocking him with questions of "Didn't you tell him to get one yourself?", "Oh, did you expect him to wait around while you flaunted infidelity in his face?".  


Someone is calling his name, and Sean has to snap out of his mind-maze, dive out of the chilling sea of his own thoughts and look up, eyes searching for whoever tried to grab his attention.  


It's Janice, asking him one thing or another, and Sean blinks slowly, lips parted in a half-formed “o” as he asks with an apology laced through his words, “I’m sorry, wha’?”  


Janice gives a quiet snort, nursing her orange margarita in one hand and lightly slapping Sean on the shoulder with the other.  


“Geez, way to get your head up in the clouds, mister!”  


Sean gives her a sheepish grin and leans closer, apologetically kissing her ear, “Sorry babe, what’d you say?”  


Janice sighs in exasperation, used to her boyfriend’s spacing-out whenever they were together. He thought she didn’t notice and tried in earnest to make up for it, taking her to fancy dinners, for long walks at the park, fun hole-in-the-wall places. But she could still feel his mind wandering whenever they spent more than three hours together, just the two of them. Well, looks like now a third (a fourth, a fifth) person didn't help Sean to stay in the conversation either. It always seemed as though Janice could never grab his full attention, which irked her to no end, but the guilt that usually ate at Sean for that reason seemed to simmer down.  


“Do I really talk so much that you get bored?” She pouts, snuggling up to his side as Sean slings an arm around her thin shoulders.  


“Nah. Just thinking about work, that’s all. Got important people coming over to the BJJ tomorrow, gotta be perfect.” It’s a half-lie – they really are coming. He just isn’t worried about that.  


Getting no reply from Janice, Sean shimmies his phone out from his jean-pocket and flicks the screen on, deciding to surf some news while his friends chatter and mingle without his input into the conversation. His mood is slowly deteriorating, mirth replaced by silent seething and prodding contemplation.  


He has to know why, why now. After two years of stubbornly defying the existence of Sean’s cover-up relationship, after spitting at the mere idea he do it himself, Reedus went and got himself a fucking girlfriend.  


There had to be something to it. Norman was never the one to sway his decisions easily, so there has to be something that made him snap, and Sean is determined to find out what.  


He sighs, knitting his brows together in a frown as his thumb slides over a photo in his news-feed.  


A photo of Reedus, standing on the red carpet with a pretty brunette dressed in all black. Sean’s never seen her before, and it doesn’t take a genius to know she’s important enough to be standing next to him.  


The title of the article reads “Norman Reedus and his new girlfriend, Alicia Preston – a rising contemporary artist – attend the opening of Puzzle Art Gallery”.  


There’s nothing but white noise in Sean’s head as he stares at the photo, the reality of it starting to sink in.  


He shoves the phone as far down the front pocket of his jeans as he possibly can, not even bothering to switch the screen off or close the page first.  


He wants to slam Reedus against the wall and beat the crap out of him for pulling this shit. It’s been what, a week since their last phone call? And Norman’s already flaunting his new girlfriend around as if he’s found the love of his life.  


There is unexpected hurt blooming in Sean’s chest, his blood pulsating with anger as he flares his nostrils and drops his head down, closing his eyes shut.  


He doesn’t give a fuck if his friends are looking at him funny and if Janice is tugging on his sleeve, inquiring what’s wrong.  


Wrong? What’s wrong?  


Fucking everything, that’s what. But he keeps his mouth shut, because if he opens it, the evening is gonna turn into an obscene mess. He has too many sharp bites and litanies at the tip of his tongue, and he can’t utter a single one, because how the fuck will he explain this shit to his cats?  


‘Hey guys, you all know Janice, right? Well, I accidentally forgot to tell you that she’s my cover-up and I’ve been in a relationship with that guy from The Walking Dead for three years and I just found out he’s actually cheating on me.’  
Fuck.  


He knew Norman wasn’t lying over the phone, but… A large part of Sean hoped that he was, keeping his mind oblivious to the green-eyed monster that started chomping on Sean’s innards the second he saw that picture.  
The evening is ruined.  


The ride home is a blur, the handshakes and goodbye kisses from his friends even more so. The somber silence in the car puts everyone on edge, but neither the driver nor Janice dare to address Sean. Flanery doesn't even bother to listen as his girlfriend gives directions to the cabbie.  


"Sean? Baby? Is something wrong?" her small hand finds its way onto his lower back, a gentle pressure as she guides him from the driveway to the porch.  


"Nah, all is good. Don't worry about it." He knows he hasn't convinced her, but he can't care less. Right now Sean wants to be alone, which is kinda hard, considering he fucking _lives_ with Janice. He should've never snooped for Reedus' pictures, because that's exactly what he did, try as he might to convince himself it was an accident — stumbling onto that photo. No, he was looking for it. Searching for it like a dog on a scent trail.  


The jingle of the house keys and the happy barking briefly pulls him out of detachment, and there's a spare minute where Sean's lips split into a wide, toothy grin as he crouches on the doormat and allows Donut to slobber all over his face.  


"Hey girl..! Missed your daddy?! Daddy missed you as well, darlin'."  


As Janice quietly slips off her shoes, Sean continues to coddle the dog, cooing and giving her a hard hug or two. These days, she's the only one he's genuinely happy to see come rain or sunshine. There's just something special about that bone-deep, pure love that dogs give their owners. Nothing like cats.  


It's a hard slap to his face, almost making him cringe as his thoughts circle back to Reedenstein.  
Sean lifts his head up, an apologetic smile on his lips as he says, "Go ahead and settle, I'll check some work e-mails and join you in bed, babe."  


Janice knows better than to argue, smart woman that she is. As Sean hears her bare feet slapping lightly on the wooden floor, he finally stands up and toes his shoes off, proceeding with his jacket.  


He feels the need for a drink, but he's at his limit. Drinking with a bunch of friends is one thing, and self-indulgence out of anger and black melancholy has never done a man any good. So he strolls to the kitchen to make himself some tea, calm his nerves down some and do exactly as he promised Janice — check his e-mails.  


It's way past 3 AM when Sean climbs into bed, his side carefully undone and Janice far gone into the dreamland.  


Trying to be as quiet as possible, Sean pulls off his t-shirt and drags down his jeans, too tired to take a shower. The bed dips under his weight as he settles down, turning to face Janice's back. The sound of claws clicking on the floor indicates that Donut has followed him into the master bedroom, and he knows from the shuffling that she's setting down onto her own bed. It's almost a typical night — the three of them falling asleep in the same room, the distant buzzing of the few cars driving by. Except that Sean's head is filled with someone else's contagious, muffled laughter and pale-blue eyes.  


He grunts as he shifts closer to Janice and wraps an arm around her waist, trying to erase the unwelcome, warm memories with the scent of her hair. Long and dark-brown and natural, not a trace of the remaining hair-dye that Seas has come to get off on.  


A damn junkie, that's what he is. A junkie hooked up on Norman Reedus.  


That is the last fleeting thought as sleep finally claims him, heavy and uncomfortably-warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically, I found a job and now im working AND studying in my final BA year. And it's a tough job at the hospital, so the shifts are damn crazy. I've also been having health problems and 5 pets to deal with (rescued 1-week old kittens on Easter). Personal problems on top of that, financial crisis in the family, stress-overload and a family member undergoing surgery.  
> So there.  
> On this note, I don't promise the next update will be any faster. But I promise that i WILL finish this baby. It's way too darling to abandon it.


End file.
